


Silence Lay Steadily

by nokia_writes



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Inspired by The Haunting of Hill House, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Not Really Character Death, but not really, cause they deserve it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokia_writes/pseuds/nokia_writes
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is dead for four minutes and twenty-two seconds.  But then he’s alive again.  Here’s how it happens.inspired by the last episode of the haunting of hill house aka my favorite show
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 105





	Silence Lay Steadily

**Author's Note:**

> heavily based on the last episode of the haunting of hill house because i LIVE for that show

Eddie dies a minute and a half after Richie leaves his side to kill It. By the time the rest of the Losers get back to him, his heart has already stopped beating, chin tucked against his bloodied chest, Richie’s jacket loose in his grip. Richie grabs his shoulder and shakes him, but it’s too late. 

“Eddie, hey man, we did it. We killed It.” Richie whispers, too far gone to realize he’s the only one talking, to realize Beverly’s started to cry. Desperate, he tries again.

“Eds, dude, come on,” Richie pats his cheek lightly, even though Eddie’s chest isn’t moving. He feels Bev’s hand touch his shoulder. She breathes in brokenly, her throat tight, because she realizes she had to tell her best friend that the love of his life is dead.

“Richie,” she starts, her voice cracking.

“We need to get him out. Guys, he’s hurt.” he spares a hurried glance over his shoulder, not meeting their eyes. Eddie’s blood is beginning to dry on his glasses, his blood staining Richie’s clothes. 

When no one moves, Richie gets mad. “He’s hurt, _bad_.” He urges again, “We need to get him to a hospital. Now.”

“ _Richie_ ,” Bev says again, through the tear stains creating pale white lines through the blood on her cheeks.

“What?” He hisses, whirling on her. His eyes are begging her not to say it because deep down he knows; he knows well enough. 

“Honey, he’s dead.”

Eddie’s dead.

Eddie Kaspbrak wakes up in the hallway of his childhood home, the walls and floors painted a crisp, clean white. The air is chilly, and he shivers. It’s bright, but outside the windows of the house is dark. He can’t tell where the light is coming from. It seems like the walls themselves are glowing.

Eddie looks at his stomach, expecting to find that gaping, bloodied hole, and instead finds himself dressed in a pristine black tuxedo, like the kind he wore on his wedding day. He presses tentatively at the skin of his stomach; there’s definitely no wound. He raises his hand to his face and feels around for the bandage, but there’s noting there. He feels perfectly fine, perfectly rested, and perfectly healthy.

“Eddie-bear?”

Eddie looks up, and turns towards the voice slowly. 

His mother stands in the hospital-white living room, in front of her old armchair that she spent so much time in, that she probably died in. She’s wearing one of her old paisley gowns, the kind that smelled like mothballs and dusty perfume. Eddie stares at her, and she smiles back at him, her eyes almost hidden behind plump cheeks.

“Oh, Eddie-bear, I’ve missed you so much.” She paces quickly over to him and takes his hands in hers. He stares, head shaking slowly.

“Mommy?” His own voice sounds strange to him, like it’s not him speaking. Like he’s watching this all through an old vintage camera.

“Eddie,” she sighs, and touches his face gently, “It’s been so long, honey, and you’ve been through so much.” She clicks her tongue, and shakes her head. She starts to tug on his hands. “Here, come sit.”

“No,” He says too quickly, too instinctively, because she looks at him in shock the way she always did whenever he dared disobey her. He swallows, closes his eyes, slows down. “No, Mom, I-I can’t, my friends, they need—“

“You know I’ve never liked those friends of yours. They let you get hurt.” She says firmly, her gaze flicking to his stomach.

“No, mom—“ He breathes in. His lungs feel like they’re being squeezed. “No, they didn’t, they care about me, I need to get back—“

“Eddie, honey, you can’t.” She shakes her head at him like he’s requesting something ridiculous. “You can’t go, it’s not safe. Come sit with me.”

“Am I,” Eddie looks around, at the white walls and floor. At the darkened windows. He thinks of the feeling of blood, hot and sticky and thick, coating his stomach. “Am I dead?”

“You’re _safe_.” His mother corrects him. “You’re safe now, Eddie-bear, nothing can hurt you.”

He pulls his hands from her grasp and stumbles back, feeling like he’s moving through water. “I don’t— I don’t want to be dead.”

“But you want to be here, with me,” She insists, stepping closer.

“No, I don’t-“

She nods, laughing patronizingly. “Oh, but you _do._ You’ve wanted to be safe your whole life. And now you are.”

_‘Not like this. Not this way.’_ Eddie doesn’t say. It’s like he’s having an asthma attack again, his breathing choked and labored, like he has sand in his throat. He feels around the lapel of his suit for his inhaler, and then remembers how he had burned it. 

“But,” he struggles with the words, looking back at the door behind him, at the dark window. “But, my friends, they need me.”

“But _I_ need you, Eddie,” His mother whines and grips his wrist when he starts to turn, and he looks back at her. “You left me here all alone and I died here and now you’re trying to leave me again—“

“No, I’m not—“

“Then _stay_ , Eddie. Behind that door,” she points a thick finger at the door behind the two of them, “is pain. There’s pain and disease, and sadness and suffering, and death. Do you want that, Eddie?”

He shakes his head. He doesn’t want that.

She smiles at him. “Come home, Eddie.”

Her grip is tight, and Eddie almost gives in, he almost lets himself stay with her because it’ll be easier than fighting her. He feels more tired and tired with each breath he takes, and it feels safe in here. But...

He looks back at the door.

He doesn’t want the disease or the pain. But he wants Richie. He wants his family. His _real_ family.

“Come home.”

So he turns back around to tell her that. And then—

“Eddie.”

Eddie turns around and looks. 

Stan stands by the door, his curls spilling from between the bandages wrapped around his head from the first time they fought It, that fateful summer. His hand bloody from their oath. He looks at Eddie and Eddie looks at him.

“Stan?”

Eddie pulls away from his mother, even after she claws after him, and moves towards Stan. Stan smiles up at him and it feels like the sun is coming up. Stan extends his clean hand out to Eddie.

“Eddie! Eddie don’t you leave me! Don’t leave me alone, Eddie you’ll die out there! Do you want to die, Eddie?”

Eddie doesn’t even think before he grabs Stan’s hand.

Eddie Kaspbrak sputters back to life just as the Losers start to drag Richie off of him. His throat’s thick with blood and he makes a silent, choked sound at first. Then he coughs into a raggedy, shaking breath. Someone yelps, and it’s all dark and damp, but Eddie can feel it, he _knows it_ when Richie comes back to him. 

“Eds! Hey, Eddie, there you are!” He laughs, his warm, wide hands on Eddie’s face, wiping the blood away from his lips. His voice is trembling and distant, like Eddie’s underwater.

“It’s okay, we’re going to get you out, we’re going to help you—“

Eddie fists a weak hand into his shirt, the other still clutching the jacket to the pulsating wound that’s back on his stomach. He doesn’t feel fine or healthy anymore. But he’s alive. He’s alive and where he wants to be. Richie’s hand finds his, and their fingers intertwine, sticky with blood.

“We need to get him out.” Richie says to someone, and there’s another voice, Eddie can’t tell from who. But then he thinks Ben is at his side, moving his arm around Eddie’s back and propping him up. Eddie lets his head fall onto Ben’s shoulder.

There’s voices all around, but Eddie only has one thing on his mind, his eyes only trained on the figure watching them from a little ways away.

“H-he s— saved me,” Eddie sputters brokenly, his words wet with blood and broken with his breathing. The others don’t seem to hear him; or if they do, they must dismiss it as the talk of a dead man.

“You’re okay, Eddie, you’re going to—“

Eddie grips Richie’s hand harder, sits up straighter, and forces a weak hand up towards the figure watching them.

“He _saved_ me.”

Richie finally looks away from Eddie to see where he’s pointing, and the others follow. They all go dead silent. 

Stan smiles when they all look at him. 

“It’s been a long time. I’m sorry we had to meet again like this.”

They’re all silent as he walks slowly over to them. He’s taller, broader, but still the same Stan that Eddie knew all those years ago. Still the same kind Jewish kid that Eddie trusted with his life, the kid that went birdwatching on weekends and complained to Eddie about his overbearing father and wanted nothing more than to have fun with his friends that summer. 

The kid that _saved him_.

“Stan?” Bill whispers, his voice hushed, like he’s afraid of speaking.

“I bet you’re all wondering why I did what I did.” He looks among them all, his eyes gentle and accepting, wise beyond their years. “It’s because I knew I was too scared to come back here.”

He motions at the silent cavern around them, but Eddie knows what he means, he means all of Derry, and all of the hate and pain and death Derry carried with it. Eddie felt that fear too when he ended the call with Mike, even as he packed his suitcases and booked the quickest flight they offered.

“But, I also knew that if all of us alive weren’t together to fight It, we’d all die. So,” he sighs, “I made the only logical move, and took myself off the board.”

He smiled then, and huffed a laugh. “And it worked.”

They all watch him, stunned into silence as he moves over and kneels down next to Eddie. He reaches out, and touches Eddie’s cheek, where he hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

“You have to live.” Stan whispers.

Eddie swallows, gasps out a ragged breath. His mouth is wet with blood and it’s hard to form the words, but he gets them out.

“I’m s-scared.”

Stan looks at him like he’s said something foolish. Maybe he has. “I’ve lived my whole life afraid, Eddie. Afraid of what I’ll leave behind, and what’ll come next. I don’t want that for you.”

Eddie blinks, breathes in shakily as Stan wipes at his cheeks. He thinks he feels Richie’s hand tighten in his.

“Are you,” Ben says, then goes quiet when Stan looks at him. He swallows, and continues, “are you—...alright now?”

Stan smiles at him, bright and happy but sad too. “Yes. No more pain. No more fear.”

Ben nods, his eyes sad.

“I-I’m sorry,” Mike says next, and Stan turns to him, “I’m sorry I called. I’m sorry I made you remember, Stan.” His voice is thick and heavy.

“I’m not.” Stan says and shakes his head. “How could I have remembered my closest friends if you hadn’t?”

Bev is next. She’s crying. “I’m sorry I never did anything. About the dreams I had. About what I saw. I’m sorry,” She sniffs heavily, and wipes at her eyes, “I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”

Stan reaches out and touches her knee, smile kind and unbothered. Funny how he’s the one handling this the best. “Nothing you could’ve done would have changed anything. I need you to know that.”

Bev nods, sobbing now as she covers Stan’s hand with hers. Bill clears his throat. He’s crying too.

“Stan, I’m—“ he ducks his head, sniffs, and looks back up, “I-I’m sorry for making you promise. I’m so suh-sorry, w-we were kids and you juh-just wanted to have fuh-fuh-f—“

Stan touches his face, and Bill closes his eyes and shuts his mouth tight, the tears falling down the curve of Stan’s hand.

“I don’t regret that promise, Bill. If I had a choice to go back and do it all over again, I would.” 

Bill nods and cries harder, grabbing Stan by the wrist, like he’s trying to make him stay.

“Because I would’ve rather died all over again than have gone a single day without knowing you all.”

Stan looks between all of them, meeting all of their eyes, before he finally looks at Richie. Eddie knows without looking that he’s crying, he can feel his shaky pulse through his hand.

Richie lets out a ragged breath, and ducks his head. This must be killing him, Eddie knows. Stan and Richie were so close back then, as close as he and Eddie were. Richie confided everything in him because that’s just how Stan was, that’s just how they were. Stan would have been there for every single one of them if need be. After a moment, he looks back up. 

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Stan smiles softly, and he’s quiet for several seconds. Then, he reaches forward and takes the hand that’s not clasped in Eddie’s.

“When people die, they learn secrets. Things that no one else could ever know because of what it would do to them. But I’ll tell you one.

“There’s no such thing as ‘without’. I am _not_ gone. I am with every single one of you, always. We’re losers. We stick together.” Stan looks around at all of them, in the same disjointed circle they had been when they made that oath.

Stan smiles. “I loved you _completely_. And you loved me the same.”

He lets go of Richie’s hand and he’s gone within a second, like they all wake up from a shared dream. None of them move for a few silent seconds, just the six of them, breathing the same air. Then, something crashes and echoes above them, and the cavern begins to shake. It’s like Stan was the last thing holding it up, and now that he’s gone, Neibolt is starting to crumble. 

Bill must realize it to, because he starts to move. “We h-have to go. This place is coming d-down.”

Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand and slips his arm under his legs instead, pulling Eddie into his chest as he picks him up. Even, half dead, Eddie can’t _help_ but bitch at him.

“Do you even lift, dickwad?”

Richie laughs softly against Eddie. “You weigh, like, four pounds, dude, stop bitching.”

Richie shifts his arms and Eddie winces in pain, letting his head thump onto Richie’s chest. Richie says something and Eddie can feel his voice vibrating in his chest, and then Eddie slips into darkness again.

This time, the dark isn’t cold.

And this time, when he wakes up, it’s in the hospital, his stomach stitched and bandaged, his heart beating steadily, and surrounded by his real family.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make me smile!!


End file.
